p o e t
r y
g a l l e r i e s
THE BOX
A box full of memories,
None of which I have experienced.
On a shelf.
In a closet.
Covered with dust.
A badge. A newspaper,
An Old Spice shaving kit.
Belongings of a man I never knew.
Death was instantaneous.
On a street.
West of town.
At dusk.
I, a small boy, wishing.
Wishing for the impossible.
For a man to return into my life.
To return.
On my birthday.
At age four.
The man. The giver of my last name.
The image of my father.
Stuffed into a box.
On a shelf.
In a closet.
Covered with dust.
A box full of memories,
None of which I have experienced.
On a shelf.
In a closet.
Covered with dust.
A badge. A newspaper,
An Old Spice shaving kit.
Belongings of a man I never knew.
Death was instantaneous.
On a street.
West of town.
At dusk.
I, a small boy, wishing.
Wishing for the impossible.
For a man to return into my life.
To return.
On my birthday.
At age four.
The man. The giver of my last name.
The image of my father.
Stuffed into a box.
On a shelf.
In a closet.
Covered with dust.
(click on title for poem meaning)
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